


Sing, Baby, Sing

by mitslits



Series: Prompts [30]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hides from everyone that he can sing very well. He does it only in his home. Eggsy finds out about it and loves him even more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing, Baby, Sing

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics are from "Come Sail Away" by Styx and cannot be attributed to me. All credit goes to Dennis DeYoung, who wrote the song.

Eggsy sets down the box he’s carrying with a huff, wincing slightly as it thuds to the ground. At least it’s just clothes, he figures. They won’t get hurt by a little bit of roughening up. He hopes not, anyways. He rather likes this job. There are many more glamorous jobs, obviously. Being the stockboy at a tailor shop isn’t going to make a Top Ten list anytime soon. But it’s good, steady work that pays decent and he isn’t half-bad at it. 

And his boss is a total DILF. 

If he had the money (and an excuse to buy a suit) he’d order one just to have Harry Hart’s hands all over him, be alone in a dressing room with him, even if it’s only for a few minutes. But shagging the boss would be a spectacularly bad idea, even if he wasn’t thirty years younger and far, far beneath his notice. 

The only time they’ve even spoken with each other was his job interview. Beyond that, there’s been an occasional instruction on where to set this or that or how many cufflinks needed to be ordered, but nothing solid. Nothing real. 

Sighing, Eggsy glances down at his watch, eyes widening when he notices how late it’s gotten. He should be closing up the shop right about… now, actually. Shoving the box off to one side he hurries out to the showroom, snatching the keys off the front desk. It only takes a second to lock up the doors and flick off the lights and he figures he can at least put the box up before clocking out. He’s heading back to the store room when he hears a rustling coming from the direction of the fitting rooms and freezes. 

That would be just like him, wouldn’t it, to lock a customer inside? Hesitantly, he takes a step forward, opening his mouth to call out a ‘hello’ but he’s stopped before he gets the chance. 

“I’m sailing away… Set an open course for the virgin sea…” 

Eggsy’s mouth stays open a bit. Someone’s singing. More than that, someone’s singing _well_. And he kind of thinks it might be Harry. 

“I’ve got to be free… Free to face the life that’s ahead of me…”

Eggsy tip-toes a couple steps closer so he can hear better, closing his hands firmly around the keys so they don’t make any noise. The door to fitting room three is slightly ajar and he squints at the mirror. It shows Harry picking up various trimmings, organizing them into neat little piles based on size. 

“On board I’m the captain… so climb aboard…”

There’s no question about it, that’s Harry singing. Eggsy’s eyebrows edge upwards slightly. It appears his boss is a man of many talents.

Eggsy finds himself drawn in, a slight smile on his lips as one verse flows into another. It’s the air guitar solo that nearly sinks him. The unexpected sight of the ever dignified Mr. Hart using his measuring tape as a guitar as he enthusiastically hums along to the music in his head has Eggsy snorting in amusement. He claps a hand over his mouth as soon as it’s out, but it’s too late. 

The humming cuts off abruptly and there’s the sounds of footsteps heading for the dressing room door. “Hello?” Harry pokes his head into the hallway, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is anyone there?” 

Only silence greets him, but it still takes a few seconds before he draws back into the room. 

Eggsy doesn’t unstick himself from the wall he’s plastered up against until the humming starts back up again, breathing out heavily in relief. He makes it out of the shop without making any more undue noise, smirking in satisfaction. He knows Harry’s secret. 

After that, Eggsy makes it a point to stick around after closing as often as he can. Secretly, of course. There’s no way Harry would sing if he knew the boy was still lurking around. 

It pays off, though. Eggsy is treated to enthusiastic renditions of “Come On, Eileen,” “White Wedding,” and the deliciously embarrassing “Dancing Queen.” 

When Christmas rolls around he plays his hand. “Merry Christmas, bruv,” Eggsy says with a cheeky wink, handing over a small package. 

Harry lifts an eyebrow when the wrapping paper tears away to reveal a CD simply titled ‘80 Hits From the 80s.’

“Thought you could use some new material.” 

Harry’s head whips up, face going a shade redder than it had been before. “Excuse me?” he stammers. 

Eggsy shrugs, grinning broadly. It’s worth getting sacked just to have had the chance to see that face. “You ain’t bad, you know? But you can only hear Livin’ On A Prayer so many times.” For a second he thinks he might actually have gone a bit far and will actually be back out on the street and a bolt of panic shoots through him. 

Then Harry snorts. “Please. It’s a classic.” He turns away with a roll of his eyes, but he tucks the CD under his arm. 

And he isn’t even a bit surprised when Eggsy turns his performance of “Almost Paradise” into a duet that evening.


End file.
